Heart of a Gryffindor
by CreativeTypist
Summary: After his first detention with Amycus Carrow, Neville reflects on what it means to be a Gryffindor. With an appearance by everyone's favorite blonde haired Ravenclaw!
1. Chapter 1

Heart of a Gryffindor

With the dawn of his seventh year, Neville Longbottom found himself doing a lot of pretending.

As he rode the crimson Hogwarts Express to Hogsmeade, he tried to tell himself that its abnormal emptiness was simply the result of a number of careless students missing the train. Perhaps traffic had been especially dreadful today, and surely his friends and acquaintances would be arriving at the school by other means soon enough.

At the start-of-term feast, Neville worked very hard to pretend that Snape's greasy and wholly unwelcome presence in the headmaster's chair was some kind of cruel joke. Perhaps Professor Dumbledore was simply hiding under the table, waiting to jump out and make some nonsensical comment about lemon drops.

Lying in his bed in Gryffindor tower, Neville attempted to ignore the fact that three of the room's five beds were empty. He chided himself for being so depressed, and tried to reassure himself that the absence of Ron's characteristic snoring probably just meant that he had finally found a magical snore cure, something for which Neville should be grateful.

When he received his class schedule, Neville rationalized that the absence of the words "defense against" from "the dark arts" was some kind of magical typo.

But Neville knew that the missing seats on the Hogwarts express belonged to those deemed unpure to attend this year, many of whom were probably already dead.

He knew that Dumbledore's brilliant blue eyes lay unseeing in the marble tomb by the lake.

He was sure that the lack of Ron's snoring was due to the lack of Ron, not a magical snore cure.

And he was quite confident that DADA would this year stress the latter DA much more than ever before.

Neville knew that Hogwarts would not, and could not, be the same as the home he had grown to know and love.

The morning of Neville's first Dark Arts lesson of the fall dawned rainy and chilly, much colder than would normally be expected for early September, although eerily reminiscent of Neville's mood. As he half-heartedly ate breakfast and walked sluggishly to the appointed classroom, Neville made a silent promise to himself to keep his head down and behave. Ginny, Luna, Seamus, and the rest of what was left of the real DA still needed him. And Neville didn't doubt that Amycus Carrow would not hesitate to harm him. The man was, after all, a Death Eater before he was a professor.

But as Neville had done so frequently since departing Platform 9 and ¾, he was lying to himself, for not five minutes into the first Dark Arts lesson of the year Neville had managed to do something that violated this oath.

"You have had a string of dismally incompetent instructors in this, the purest and most beautiful of all branches of magic," began Amycus, his voice dripping with cruelty, a twisted smile on his lips.

"I can only hope that this will be balanced by the few worthwhile experiences you have had in the subject, namely from my dear friend, Barty Crouch Jr. May his soul rest in peace. I dare say it will be avenged when we manage to dispose of Potter and all his blood traitor and mudblood friends once and for all!"

Neville knew who Crouch was, knew the role he had played in the torture of his parents. With no thought for the consequences, Neville stood up abruptly, looked Amycus in the eye, and shouted loudly.

"That man's soul burns in hell, and we can only hope that you'll join him soon, you and all your de-"

But Neville was interrupted when, with a flick of his wand, Amycus Carrow silenced Neville and forced him back into his seat.

"Well, Well, Longbottom," muttered the death eater, that same cruel smile plastered on his fat face. "I wish I could say that I didn't expect such insolence out of a noble pure blood like yourself. I suppose you will have to be taught some manners, will you not, boy? As we all know, your parents didn't get much time to teach them to you. Surely they would be disappointed."

Neville tried to respond, but found that he was still silenced.

"Let me see your time table, boy," demanded Amycus.

Neville saw no point in disobeying further, and handed the parchment over. Amycus prodded a spot on the next afternoon with his wand, from which the words "transfiguration" disappeared, to be replaced with "detention."

"I'm sure dear Minerva will understand," he muttered, handing the schedule back to Neville.

"Now as I was saying…" he continued, launching into a passionate speech about the glory of the dark arts. Neville sat in his magically imposed silence, making to himself a new vow, one that he thought he could actually keep.

"This year," he thought to himself, "I will make my parents proud. I will make the stand that Harry would make if he were able to be there. I will be as good and loyal a friend as Ron to all around me. I will do my best to channel Hermione's cleverness to protect those around me. I can't let them down."

The next day's weather was equally gloomy, matching Neville's demeanor as he trudged down the stairs to "Professor" Carrows's office.

Neville opened the heavy wooden door. Amycus practically giggled with glee at Neville's arrival, and pulled him by the arm to the adjoining classroom, which was filled with Slytherin seventh years.

"Please, do sit," the death eater instructed, gesturing to a chair near his desk. Neville obliged, apprehensive about what was to come. What sort of detention was observing a Slytherin dark arts lesson?

"Welcome to Dark Arts," Amycus began. "Having met your counterparts in the other three houses already, I daresay the school's standards have slipped in recent years. However, I also know that you, members of the most noble house of Slytherin, will be up to the challenges this year will present better than any of your lesser peers. As such, we shall begin with a quick review of a subject you all should be familiar with, before moving on the more advanced magic befitting your purity and talent."

Amycus stopped to clear his throat, and glanced fleetingly in Neville's direction.

"The Cruciatus curse is most useful, as many of you are well aware. It can even be fun, at times! Mr. Longbottom here has so kindly volunteered to assist us in mastering this indispensable curse. First, I will demonstrate. _Crucio_."

The pain was unbearable and unending. Neville fell from his chair and began to twitch on the floor.

"Don't…scream…don't…let…win…" Neville's body was on fire, and his mind was struggling to continue. Nonetheless, Neville concentrated every ounce of power he had not to scream, biting his lips so hard he could taste the salty blood. He thought of his mother and father as he wirthed on the floor, confined to a hospital, unable to recognize their son or the world around them. Unable to feel joy, locked in themselves. For them, Neville knew he could stay strong.

And then it stopped, and Neville could breathe again.

"You will line up and each, in turn, will attempt to place the curse on Mr. Longbottom here. Remember that he is a filthy blood traiter, and a dear friend of Harry Potter. He is a disgrace to all you stand for. This should help you cast the curse."

And so the Slytherins lined up, and, one after another, placed the curse on Neville. None could compare to the well rehearsed work of Amycus, and with each student the pain was lesser and short lived. And still, Neville would not cry out.

Finally, only three students remained to try their hand at the Cruciatus. To his horror, Neville realized that these were Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle.

"Bloody fabulous," he thought. "A death eater and his cronies. Surely they've had sufficient practice already."

Malfoy went first, drawing his wand and hesitating momentarily.

Neville braced himself.

_"__Crucio_" Draco whispered, so softly that the incantation was barely audible.

The wave of agony Neville had expected did not come, rather a harsh jerk that was little more than mildly uncomfortable.

Amycus seemed to notice this, placing his hand on Malfoy's shoulder, a gesture which seemed almost fatherly.

"Seems your…err…extracurricular activities are taking a bit out of you, eh son?" suggested Amycus jovially.

Malfoy, looking even more pale than ever, didn't answer. Rather, he returned to his seat and hung his head in silence.

Neville was momentarily confused and relieved by Malfoy's mercy. For a second, he even dared to hope that Crabbe and Goyle, whose shared intelligence failed to equal that of a chipmunk, would prove incapable of this cruel but demanding bit of magic.

But Neville was wrong. Goyle cast the incantation first. Neville, caught off guard by the fury of the spell, which nearly equaled that cast by Amycus Carrow, screamed.

After seemingly an eternity, Goyle lifted the spell and stepped aside for Crabbe to take his turn.

A split-second later, Neville was again drowning in agony. Unable to contain himself, he screamed loudly and struggled wildly. And then, all went dark.

Reviews are welcome and encouraged. Expect another installment soon…


	2. Chapter 2

Heart of a Gryffindor

Chapter Two

Neville Longbottom, unsure of where he was or why, awoke with a start to the sound of muffled voices.

"I came as soon as I heard, Minerva. How is he?"

"As well as one can expect after serving as a Cruciatus target for an entire class of junior death eaters, I suppose. Oh Pomona, I just wish I had come sooner when I realized that he was missing from my class. I assumed he was just ill, or perhaps had misplaced his timetable again. Little did I know the poor boy was being tortured right under my nose!"

Neville was frightened by the concerned tone dominating the voice of his usually stoic head of house. He shifted his weight, preparing to speak, but even this slight movement was met with complaint from every bone and muscle in his body. Instead of the reassuring words he had intended to produce, an audible moan issued from Neville's lips.

"Oh Neville, you're awake!" exclaimed Professor Sprout, bustling into the room to the bedside of her favorite pupil, while Professor McGonagall, seemingly ashamed of being caught with her stern countenance broken, bustled off to alert Madame Pomfrey.

"Yes Ma'am…" whispered Neville weakly. "But where…why…" He was finding it abnormally difficult to form a sentence, a side effect that tends to occur when every nerve ending in your body is crying out in agony.

"You are in the hospital wing, dear. I'm afraid some rather unfortunate circumstances led to you spending an extended period of time under the Cruciatus curse."

And Neville remembered- the agony, the white-hot pain, the feeling of betrayal that comes from suffering for the enjoyment of a fellow human being. But rather than being terrified or upset by such a memory, as the Neville of just a few years before would have been, this Neville smiled.

Professor Sprout must have been quite unnerved by this unexpected reaction, as displayed by the look of shock that danced over her own round features.

Noticing this, Neville explained, "I survived it then. I'm stronger than them, and I won."

Madame Pomfrey came striding into the room and began to chastise Professor Sprout for disturbing her patient's rest. The matron was a domineering figure even to her colleaugues, so Professor Sprout obeyed the woman's command, squeezing Neville's hand gently in farewell, and exiting the room.

"Disgraceful, absolutely disgraceful what they have done to you. Is this a school, or a Death Eater training camp? Whatever would dear Albus say if he could see this?" As usual, Madame Pomfrey muttered to herself as she went about her duties, filled a vial with a smoking green potion and handing it to Neville.

"Drink it," she insisted in response to the grimace on her patient's face. "It will help."

Neville obliged, and soon found himself descending again into the friendly darkness.

At Madame Pomfrey's insistence, Neville was kept in the hospital wing for nearly a week, during which he regained not only his strength but his drive. In some ways, Neville was even thankful for the torture. He had proven to himself that he could survive. No longer was he the scared, stuttering little boy who had come to Hogwarts just seven years before. This Neville was a man, one whom he knew his father would be very proud if.

"If only he had been given the opportunity," thought Neville bitterly.

Upon his release, Neville was pleased to see that his first class after this ordeal would be herbology. He made his way down to the greenhouses, the only place left at Hogwarts where he could feel happy and safe.

Once there, Professor Sprout set her seventh years to work, assigning them to the dull but necessary task of repotting her Dittany. The use of this plant in a magical healing ointment was not lost on Neville, who had a horrible feeling that it would be required quite frequently this year.

Nonetheless, Neville relaxed and went about his work in reflective silence. As the class drew to a close, Professor Sprout beckoned Neville over to her desk, and motioned for him to take a nearby seat.

Neville obliged, and his favorite Professor smiled at him kindly.

"How are you feeling, dear?" she asked, concern evident in her voice.

"Just fine, Professor," he replied.

"I'm so glad you are alright. Look Neville, I wish to discuss something important with you. As a professor, I am not supposed to have favorites. But I will admit that you have been one of mine since your first year. Since then, I've watched you grow into a strong, brave, and confidant young man, and I know how proud your parents would be of your willingness to stand up for what is right. Many a time have I argued with Minerva about you- how I dearly wish you were in my house, but she has always insisted you are perfectly suited for her house. You have proven yourself a Gryffindor through and through though, but sometimes you have found yourself in grave danger as a result. It is this that I wish to speak to you about, Neville. Hogwarts is a dangerous place this year, and you need to understand that some here do not appreciate your actions, and will take any excuse to harm you. I need you to promise me that you will stay out of trouble- getting yourself killed with foolish bravery is no way to honor your parents, my dear."

"I'm sorry, Professor, but I am afraid I can make no such promise. Harry never stayed out of trouble, but he provided hope to all of us that we too can make a difference. With Harry gone this year, it is students like me who must take a stand for what is right. If this gets me killed, well, at least I have upheld the values for which my parents made their sacrifice. To do any less would be an insult to them, as well as all of the good, decent people who have been harmed in the name of blood purity."

Professor Sprout looked momentarily shocked. Clearly she had expected Neville to politely agree and make the promise she suggested. And perhaps the Neville she had known just a few short years ago would have done just that. But this Neville was different from the one she used to know, a fact which she had tried to ignore in thinking she could persuade him to behave. Instead of trying to change his mind, she pulled him into a silent hug.

Neville was somewhat shocked by this gesture, but tried not to show it as he left the sanctuary of his greenhouse. Not feeling the least bit hungry for lunch, Neville found a quiet spot under a tree by the lake, and sat. Soon, he was lost in his thoughts.

_"Such a common boy he is, Augusta.__ Why, he's hardly better than a squib!__ It will be a miracle if he can even make it into __Hufflepuff__. How disappointed Frank and Alice would be."_

_Standing behind the door and just out of sight, Neville __Longbottom__, barely ten years old, heard every word._

_Uncle __Algie__ had always doubted Neville, and was never careful to ensure the boy was missing from the room before launching into his speeches about the child's worthlessness.__ As such, Neville had grown up not just believing, but knowing that he was doomed to disappoint his relatives. No way __this chubby, quiet, shy boy could__ ever live up to the precedent set by the great Frank __Longbottom_

_And so it was with great anxiety that eleven year old Neville __Longbottom__ boarded the Hogwarts express, wondering if a return train would be available when the Sorting Hat pronounced him unfit to enter __any of Hogwarts' esteemed houses. For many months now, Neville had had nightmares that the ancient hat would pronounce him as unfit even for__Hufflepuff_

_"May as well enjoy it while it lasts," thought the gloomy boy, as the train pulled away from Platform 9 and 3/4s. Many of the other first years seemed distraught as their parents disappeared from view, but Neville felt sure that he would be reunited with a very disappointed Gran soon, after he was cast out in disgrace from Hogwarts._

_As the train pulled up to the castle, Neville was dazzled by its beauty. Apprehensively, he boarded the boats, dreaming of how amazing it would be if he were allowed to stay._

_Neville __Longbottom__ trembled as he __awaited__ his turn with the Sorting Hat. The smells wafting from the Great Hall were so __pleasant,__ Neville hoped he would be allowed at least to partake in the feast before he was sent home. _

_When Neville's turn came, he approached the stool atop which that hat was set like a man nearing the executioner. He plopped the hat down on his head, thinking, "I know I don't belong here. But maybe, just maybe, can you find a place for me in __Hufflepuff__? I promise I will try my very best to keep up."_

_"__Hufflepuff__?" replied the hat. "Well, it does seem that you are a true and loyal friend, Mr. __Longbottom__. But I see something else here, something greater. Use it well boy, make your parents proud in GRYFFINDOR!" _

_Neville had been so shocked, that he had attempted to walk away with the hat still atop his head. He stumbled and reddened, and returned the hat to its seat. His feelings were complicated, a mixture of fear that this was a terrible mistake and that the hat would reconsider and send him home, and __an overwhelming sense of joy at making it into the house of his parents._

_"So what if my stupid toad__ is braver than I am? I can stay__!" he thought joyously, as he took his seat amongst his new house mates. _

Neville knew now that his doubt as to his placement in Gryffindor was a great mistake, and silently thanked the sorting hat for its foresight in placing him in a house with those who could help him develop his bravery. As terrifying as experiences like the Department of Mysteries and protecting the castle from Death Eaters after Dumbledore's death had been, Neville knew that they had developed him into the man he was today.

Still though, that whisper of doubt that had been his constant companion reminded him that this year would be different, without Harry to lead the charge, Hermione to serve as the brains, and Ron to unite everyone. Perhaps he couldn't do it. Perhaps he was foolish to make a change. Perhaps…

"Wrackspurt got your brain, Neville?"

Neville jumped visibly at the unexpected interruption of his thoughts, but smiled when the blonde haired witch who had been so stealthy in creeping up behind him plopped down at his side and grasped his hand in hers.


	3. Chapter 3

Heart of a Gryffindor

Chapter Three

There was a time when Neville would have felt exceedingly awkward at the warm presence of Luna's small, soft hands in his. But if there was one thing he had learned from his ordeal with Amycus Carrow, it was that his time may be limited, and he intended to fully enjoy every second of it. And so he clasped her hand as if he never intended to let go.

Luna, never one to mince her words, stated simply, "They hurt you."

Neville nodded solemnly, replying, "And they probably will again."

Luna squeezed his hand gently. "Why are you sad, Neville?"

Most people would find the answer obvious, content to believe that the cause of Neville's unhappiness dwelt in the realization of his own mortality and the physical obstacles he would surely face in the coming year. But Luna was no ordinary person, a fact Neville had come to accept and embrace.

"I don't want them to hurt you."

"You known Neville, right before I boarded the express this year my father and I had a very interesting discussion. He said that one day, he knew he would find a crumple horned snorkack. His greatest wish, he said, was that it would be with me. Then he kissed me on the cheek, and brushed my hair out of my face. I gave him a hug, and whispered in his ear, I hope so too."

Neville, unsure of the relevance of this anecdote, sat silently, waiting for the mysterious girl to continue.

"I do very much hope I get to. At any rate, Sweden is a lovely place and there is so very much I hope to see. But Neville, you and Ginny and the rest of the DA are even better than the snorkack. If I have miss it for your sake, I will."

Neville knew what great weight these words carried, understanding the value Luna placed on these mythical dream creatures of her. At a loss for what to reply, the two settled into a comfortable silence, watching the wind stir slight ripples on the surface of the lake, reveling in the seemingly peaceful front presented by the afternoon.

"Malfoy didn't torture me." Neville said, more thinking out loud than making conversation.

"He's not evil, you know," Luna said, in her usual dreamy tone which implied she had no knowledge of the depth of this statement.

"He tried to kill Dumbledore! He's a death eater! He…"

"…didn't hurt you?" Luna supplied.

She was right of course, but Neville was, as always, tempted to ask how she knew this. He fought the urge bravely, but finally gave in to logic's demands, politely asking Luna of her source.

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" Luna replied, and Neville knew it was fruitless to push the issue further. Chances are, she was correct, and Neville knew that sooner or later he would discover why. So it was with Luna.

"Neville, when are you going to restart the DA?" The question was unexpected and caught Neville off guard. Of course, doing so seemed to be one of Luna's greatest talents.

"Me? I…I can't. I'm not Harry…I…well," Luna gave him a most peculiar look, freezing his excuses in their tracks. "…how about Friday?"

"Friday is fine," she replied, scooting her body closer to his.

"You know Neville, when they were hurting me, I thought of you."

Neville's body tensed with rage when he heard this. She must have felt it, for she for once felt fit to explain herself.

"Last week, in Muggle Studies, Professor Carrow was describing to us the worthlessness of Muggle technology. I simply suggested that perhaps she could benefit from some of it, namely toothpaste. I think this may have upset her, as she started acting quite strangely after that. She made me stay after class, and she put that awful spell on me. And I thought of you, and the rest of the DA, and how I do hope that Harry is well, and that it is currently snorkack breeding season. And I laughed, which made her quite upset. Apparently laughter isn't quite the goal of the spell."

"No Luna, it isn't."

She giggled. "Well, I suppose magic doesn't always work as we intend."

A question burst to the front of Neville's mind, one he had been wondering about for months but never saw fit to ask. Now that she was practically sitting atop his lap, it seemed as good a time as any to bridge a personal question.

"Luna, why weren't you in Gryffindor?"

Luna's eyes became far away, as she smiled slightly and began to recount the story.

_Luna __Lovegood__, eleven years old and already __assigned__ the unfortunate nickname of Loony, awaited her turn with the Sorting Hat with indifference. She was more captivated by the enchanted ceiling, and began to count the stars. __Unfortunately, she saw fit to do saw a__loud, much to the chagrin of the other nervous new students in line behind her. The boy ahead of her turned around and stomped on her foot angrily, which may not have been so bothersome had she not misplaced her shoes on the train. Perhaps silent counting was a wiser course of action in this instance._

"_Four hundred and fifty seven, four hundred and fifty eight, four __hun__…"_

_"Luna __Lovegood__…LUNA LOVEGOOD…"_

_Luna paused in her counting, long enough to notice that all eyes were upon her and that the line between her and the sorting hat had disappeared entirely.__ Even the awful boy who had stepped on her toes had disappeared, although he was clearly glaring at her from the __Slytherin__ table._

_She skipped up to the stool, and placed the hat atop her head, silently praying that it was not infested by __wrackspurts__ from the thousands of heads it had touched__ Surely Professor Dumbledore knew a simple __wrackspurt__ extermination spell, such as the one her father had cast on her hair just the week prior._

_The hat__'__s first response__ as at landed on Luna's head__ resembled a shriek, as much of one as such an object can produce._

_"That's hurting my head, you know," Luna replied airily._

_"My…utmost apologies," said that hat, "Now where to put you…so much going on up here…how __do you__ keep it all straight, dear?"_

_"Well, sometime less important things, like where I placed my shoes, are sacrificed in favor of plans for what to do with my __butterbeer__ cork collection, or __nargle__ prevention strategies."_

_"Most logical, I suppose.__ And yet so brave, so loyal. Hmmm…at least we can rule out __Slytherin__. You wouldn't make it there."_

_"I do enjoy the color blue," Luna commented lightly._

_"As good a reason as any I can see.__ Well, Ms. __Lovegood__, I'm suppose it will have to be…RAVENCLAW!"_

As Luna recounted her tale, Neville suppressed the urge to laugh. The story was so very Luna. But still, he couldn't help but be saddened by how much he knew this year would have to dispel her precious innocence, how much she would have to harden to survive.

"Besides Neville, red is truly a horrid color. Although it does suit you very well."

This time, Neville did laugh. Leave it to Luna to cheer anyone up with some silly comment.

Then, Neville did something unexpected. He leaned in, placing a tender kiss atop the girl's fair lips.

The old Neville, which still dwelt somewhere deep within this improved version of himself, cried out in protest. The awkwardness which had been so blissfully absent from their proximity just moments before had returned to Neville with a vengeance, and he made to scoot away from her.

"Oh dear Neville, you are going to do that again, aren't you?"

And Neville did, kissing her again, the tenseness and fear of their situation replaced with the utter joy of such a blessed act with someone you love.

For Neville did love Luna, and he knew that as hard as the year would be, they would survive, together. And soon enough, Harry would return and together they would restore Hogwarts once and for all. In the meantime though, it was Neville's turn to be the brave one.

How proud his parents would be. And how very much they would love the girl with the silvery blonde hair and unmatched depth. For Neville knew, he certainly did.

A/N: Neville/Luna forever! Anyway, hope you liked it and please review.

I know the chapters are a little short…in a week or so, I will probably combine them all into one longer oneshot story.

Coming up next from me…

As yet untitled oneshot about Peter Pettigrew. Why was the cowardly rodent man sorted into Gryffindor? This story will explain it all, so keep an eye out!


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